


When John Met Lock

by RemyRemedial



Series: The 'Stag Do' Universe [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Domestic Fluff, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Non-Sexual Age Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2019-07-06 01:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15875637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemyRemedial/pseuds/RemyRemedial
Summary: Mycroft and Greg are away on a rare holiday and Sherlock and John have just wrapped up a case. Neither of them expected that they would suddenly regress, but when Sherlock does, John is forced to be a caregiver to his little brother for the first time. Neither of them are entirely sure what to expect.





	1. Chapter One

The first time an adult Sherlock took care of a ‘little’ John, he had some preparation. Well not really, but he’d had fair warning and was actually looking forward to it. The very first time an adult John took care of a little Sherlock, there was no warning involved. Both Sherlock and John were known to drop unexpectedly, usually due to some sort of emotional stress. However, when this happened, either Greg or Mycroft were within calling distance and would arrive before anything terrible happened. The combination of a surprise anniversary holiday organised by Greg, and the end of a particularly taxing case for Sherlock, left an unprepared John in charge of Lock.

John was asleep on the sofa, the tv was rumbling away in the background. Once they had wrapped everything up at the station both he and Sherlock had retreated home. John had made a cup of tea, eaten an inadvisably large slice of cake and passed out in front of a terrible made for TV movie. Sherlock had stormed through the flat, slamming every door on the way to his bedroom and John left him to do whatever it was that he did in those situations. Once upon a time, many moons ago, he would have kicked in the door in fear of finding Sherlock was a needle in his arm. He no longer feared that kind of scenario, but his mind did race with ideas of what it was that Sherlock did to calm himself down. He was fairly certain that he took to the comments board on small recipe websites to tell them all how pointless their lives were, or something just as pointlessly vicious. But whatever Sherlock’s ‘process’ was, he’d leave the man to it.

John was half awake and trying to work out if he could be arsed to get up and make another cup of tea when he felt something poking him in the stomach. It was tentative at first but then quite insistent.

“Sherlock, what the fuck mate?” he grumbled as he half opened his eyes. “Weird, even for you.” He looked up to where he expected to see Sherlock looming over him, but he wasn’t there. He cast his eyes down until he found Sherlock’s face hovering somewhere by John’s knee. “You alright?” John asked as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, but he had his answer before Sherlock opened his mouth. John was no longer in the company of Sherlock, but rather Lock. 

John was about to help Sherlock up onto the sofa and call Mycroft when he remembered their holiday. In that moment he had a decision to make. Disrupt his surrogate brothers/fathers’ holiday (and bearing in mind one of those men was Mycroft Holmes it was a very very very rare holiday indeed) or look after a little Sherlock on his own for the very first time. He was sorely tempted by the first option, unlike Sherlock he had never shown any particular interest in taking care of his best mates younger alter-ego. But then he had to go and think about the two men that he loved so much and who looked after him, whichever ‘him’ he was, every bloody day of his life, they never had time to themselves thanks to him and Lock. He couldn’t take them away from their holiday, he knew all it would take was a text and they would charter a helicopter to land on the roof of 221B as soon as humanly possible. No, they deserved a break, and he was going to bloody well let them have one, so he sat up and looked down at the little boy sat on the floor beside the sofa.

“Ello there, Lock.” He smiled.

“Ello.” Sherlock mumbled back from behind the thumb that was well and truly buried in his mouth, his finger curled around the bridge of his nose to prevent it from accidentally slipping out.

“Have you just woken up?”

“A-huh.” Sherlock nodded. He was giving him a strange look. Adult John was somewhat of a stranger to Lock in a way that adult Sherlock had not been to John-John. “You swores.” Sherlock furrowed his brow seriously but didn’t take his thumb from his mouth which slightly undercut the intimidating edge the toddler was attempting.

“I did?” John thought back, “Oh shit, I did, sorry mate.” Sherlock gasped, and John waved his hands a little frantically, “No, no buddy, sorry I didn’t mean to- “He sighed and rubbed his slightly sweaty forehead. “I won’t do it again, I’m sorry.”

“Not ah-llowed.” Sherlock had recovered from the shock of a second swear work and was scowling again.

“You’re right, it’s not allowed.” John nodded, stretching as he swung his legs off the sofa (over Sherlock’s head) before looking back down at Sherlock.

“Norty.”

“Yep, you’re right it is naughty to swear.” John nodded again. He was desperately trying work out what to do in this situation. He was a strange combination of sleepy and frantic with worry, it was terribly disconcerting. He closed his eyes and look a long, deep breath and played the voice of Greg in his head, ‘You’ve got this, John.’ Mm. He did. He opened his eyes and looked back at Sherlock. “Do you want to give me a time-out?” John asked. Sherlock giggled and shook his head,

“Nooo.” For the first time since he was prodded in the stomach, John was feeling a least a little bit human and not completely at a loss.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeh.” Sherlock nodded this time, still giggling.

“Well alight then. But, little mister Holmes, you’re not allowed to copy your big brother.” John wagged a finger at him. He could see Sherlock registering his words and working out what that meant. He nodded.

“Kay.”

“That’s a good boy. Now then, what are you doing down there lad?” John heard his own words back, ‘lad’, it felt natural. He knew because Sherlock had explained it to him that when he had taken care of John-John, he’d found himself channelling Mycroft in ways he hadn’t expected. Perhaps John was more like Greg than he had realised.

“Dunno.” Sherlock shrugged, and John patted the spot next to him, 

“Come on, you, I need a hug.” Sherlock was up on the couch in a flash of limbs, but he didn’t make a move to hug John, instead sitting back on his knees, thumb in his mouth, looking at him.

“John?”

“Yes Lock?”

“You gunna call Pa?”

“Pa is on holiday, Lock.”

“’oliday?”

“Yep, but if we need him, I’ll give him a call and he’ll come right home.” Sherlock thought about this and nodded.

“Gunna call Da?” John chuckled,

“Da’s on holiday too, buddy.”

“Ree-lee?”

“Yeah.”

“Loss and loss of ‘olidays, huh?”

“Yep, lots of holidays. But if we need him, I’ll call him too.”

“Kay.” Sherlock nodded. Then he fidgeted a little bit and looked down at his knees, he looked uncertain and a little sad. “John?”

“Yes love?” Sherlock shuffled forwards and leaned in as though he were exchanging as secret, “Who’s gunna look afta me?”

“Who’s going to…Lock, I’m going to look after you, silly boy.” John reached forwards and stroked Sherlock’s hair.

“John look afta me?” Sherlock tilted his head.

“Of course! I’m your big brother, aren’t I?” 

“Yeh, ov’cors!” Sherlock nodded.

“Exactly, that’s what big brothers do, they look after their baby brothers.”

“I’m noh a baby!” Sherlock half protested half giggled.

“That thumb says differently, kid.” Sherlock pouted, “Come here, come on.” John held out his arms and when Sherlock started to curl into a hug he pulled him close. “Right then, hug for John, then it’s bath time.” Sherlock snuggled into John’s chest and let out a long sigh of relief. He’d be alright after all.

“No baff, fank-yoo.” John laughed,

“Well, firstly, very good boy for being so polite.” Sherlock grinned behind his thumb, “But secondly, yes bath.”

“Nooo.” Sherlock shook his head. 

“Eh, Lock, I’m in charge and if I say its bath time, it’s bath time.”

“John noh tha boss.” Sherlock frowned.

“John is most definitely the boss mate.”

“Na-huh.”

“Ya-huh.” John was about to poke his tongue out at Sherlock when the little guy wriggled out of the hug and made off towards the other end of the sofa. John surprised both Sherlock and himself when he landed a firm smack on Sherlock’s backside. Sherlock looked stunned over his shoulder, but John wasn’t thrown, “Behave.” He pointed a finger. (Yep, maybe Greg wasn’t far off with all of his Greg Junior chat.) Sherlock sighed and crawled back over to John and instantly climbed into his lap putting his head on his big brother’s shoulder.

“Cuddle first, tho.” 

“That’s right cuddle first.” 

John let them both sit there for a little while, enjoying the way Sherlock felt so relaxed with him before he roused him from his dozing by stroking his back.

“Right then, cuddle monster. Bath time.”

“Ohhh.” Sherlock pouted.

“Come on, be a good lad and hop up.” Sherlock climbed off of John’s lap and stood waiting for him to stand up, once John was up he took Sherlock’s hand in his. “Right then, smart boy, what do we need?”

“For a baff?”

“Yep, what do we need for a bath?” Sherlock thought very hard for a moment before answering, a little bit unsure,

“Water?” John chuckled,

“Absolutely right, we need some water. Do you know what else we need?”

“Wha?”

“We need some jammas for you.”

“Oh yeh!” Sherlock hopped, excited.

“You go and find me some and I’ll meet you in the bathroom.” Sherlock was off like a shot and John wandered over to the kitchen. He picked a couple of clean pacifiers out of the drawer and started to make a bottle for Sherlock, once he had him out of the bath and safely into bed. He made up an adult meal replacement milkshake, (it was a trick of Mycroft’s he had picked up, a way of ensuring Sherlock ate something if he crashed after a case) and wandered into the bathroom.

Sherlock was not there. So, he went to Sherlock’s bedroom to find him. He knocked on the door and pushed it open to find Sherlock sat in a pile roughly two-foot-deep of an assortment of clothes. John put the pacifiers and bottle down on the side and hurried over.

“What’s happened here?” his initial instinct was to laugh but with a closer look at Sherlock he saw he looked very small and lost. One look at Sherlock’s face and the instinct to laugh disappeared, “Lock?”

“Fused.” Sherlock mumbled looking very upset.

“Fused…fused…confused?” Sherlock nodded, glad that John understood.

“Oh, love I’m sorry!” John crouched down and helped Sherlock from his fort of clothes and into John’s lap. “That was John’s mistake. That was a very big thing I asked you to do, I’m sorry lad.” John held Sherlock close and rubbed his back as his hitched breathing calmed. “You, little man, are such a good boy. Well done for trying.” He kissed Sherlock’s hair and wanted nothing more than to make him feel better. “How are you doing, eh?”

“Kay.”

“Oh, lovely boy, that was a bit scary for you, there.”

“A-huh.”

“I’m so sorry. Let’s get you in a nice warm bath, how about you sleep with John in his bed tonight?” At that point John would offer Sherlock an endless supply of chocolate biscuits if it would make him smile again.

“Big bed?”

“Yep, you and me can share my big bed. Nelson too. How about that?”

“A-huh, a-huh.” Sherlock nodded trying to convey to John that he really liked that idea.

“Yeah, that’ll be nice wont it.” John said mostly to himself, “Right, bath time sweetness.” John helped Sherlock up. “Can you sit on the bed for me?” Sherlock nodded and stumbled over, not letting go of John’s hand, so he followed. “There we go, good job.” John smiled once Sherlock was sitting, 

“I’m just going to get your pyjamas for you, I’ll be just there.” John pointed to the chest of drawers and Sherlock nodded, but didn’t release his hand. John was going to make an argument for Sherlock letting him go, but he did the calculations in his head and his and Sherlock’s combined arm length should allow him to reach a bloody pair of pyjamas. So, he stretched over the pile of clothes and managed to hook a pair of Elmo pyjamas from the draw, he may have dislocated every one of his joints in the process, but it meant Sherlock wasn’t too upset so he was happy. 

“There we go. Now then, can you be a big boy and follow me to the bathroom. I’ll hold your hand the whole way?”

“Kay.” Sherlock nodded still looking very small and upset. John lead the way, picking up a pacifier on his finger as he passed them.

Once they were in the bathroom, John settled Sherlock on the closed toilet seat and starting to run the bath before turning back to him.

“Let’s get you out of those clothes, eh?” Sherlock nodded and tugged at the front of his shirt.

“Too hard.” He pouted, sincerely.

“Oh, I know, this is a John job, it’s a big boy shirt, it’s got lots of buttons.” John started to unbutton the shirt,

“Bussons.” Sherlock nodded, his thumb now back in his mouth.

“Oh,” John abandoned the shirt for a moment and picked up the pacifier, “Think I can swap your thumb for a dummy?”

“Mm.” Sherlock thought, “No fank-yoo.” He shook his head.

“It’s a pretty green one.” John tried, sounding a little bit like a salesman.

“John like id?” Sherlock asked, definitely interested.

“Oh yeah, it’s very cool.” John knew that to anyone else that turn of phrase would instantly mark something as quite the opposite but to little Sherlock, his big brother thought it was cool, so it definitely was.

“Kay,” Sherlock nodded, “Swaps.” He took he thumb out of his mouth and John guided the green pacifier into place.

“How’s that?”

“Yummy.” Sherlock nodded, and John chuckled,

“That’s what I like to hear. Right, let’s get this fiddly shirt off.” John carried on undressing Sherlock. It was all going well (John quickly jumped to turn off the taps when he realised it took a lot longer to undress a fussy child than it usually took him to undress and that the bath was about to run over) he had Sherlock undressed and ushered him to the edge of the bath, he was just about to help him in when Sherlock took a step back, one hand clutching onto John’s t-shirt. “Lock?” Sherlock took the pacifier from his mouth,

“No baff pease and fank-yoo.” Sherlock nodded and quickly stuffed the dummy back between his teeth. John was a little unsettled but tried a different tactic,

“Are you sure you’re Sherlock Holmes?” he asked with a squint. 

Sherlock nodded.

“Mm, I’m not sure. I think you’re the most polite little boy in the whole world and my little brother definitely isn’t that polite.”

“Is me, John, see- “Sherlock grinned bearing all of his teeth as if this would clarify things for John.

“Oh, would you look at that, you are my brother!” John feigned surprise.

“Yeh!” Sherlock nodded, pacifier now back in his mouth yet again.

“When did you get so polite, eh?” Sherlock shrugged. “Well, Mr Polite Boy, why don’t you want to have a bath?”

What Sherlock wanted to tell John was that he didn’t really ever like having baths, he particularly disliked water getting in his ears and his eyes. His Pa knew that and so did his Da, but his big brother John had never given him a bath before, so he couldn’t possibly know that Sherlock didn’t like those things. If he didn’t know then he couldn’t make it all okay and so really, he would much prefer if they could skip the bath segment of the evening, just this once, and go straight to bed. He was feeling awfully tired. Of course, Sherlock was far too young to be able to convey this information. All he could manage was to stamp his foot, half mumble half shout, ‘not nice!’ and start crying.

Luckily for Sherlock, he may have been too young to understand the situation, but his brother was not.

“Oh dear, oh love come ‘ere.” John pulled Sherlock close and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around him to keep him warm. “No bath if you don’t want to.” He held him close and rocked him back and forth where he stood for a little while, letting him cry until he didn’t want to anymore. Eventually he was able to manoeuvre Sherlock back onto the toilet seat and crouch down in front of him. “I think someone’s very tired, hm?”

Sherlock nodded.

“How about if you let me wash your face with a flannel? Can I do that, Lock?”

Sherlock thought about it and nodded again.

“Well done, brave boy. It’ll just take me two seconds.” John grabbed a flannel that was floating in the warm bath water and gently cleaned the boy’s face, the whole-time murmuring words of support. When he was done he discarded the flannel in the sink. “Well aren’t you brave, eh?”

“A-huh.” Sherlock hiccupped. 

“Can you let me get you dressed?”

Sherlock nodded, and John dressed him in his pyjamas before helping him up and walking him to collect the bear Nelson from his room (John grabbed the bottle and back up pacifier from the sideboard) before retreating to John’s bedroom.

“Why don’t you take Nelson and get cosy, I’m just going to get changed for bed- “

“Don’t go?” Sherlock asked of his brother before he could finish his sentence.

“Of course not, I’ll be right here the whole time. Go on, in you get.” John nodded towards the bed and watched Sherlock hop over and climb under the covers. Then he set about getting himself ready for bed. Once he was, he gathered the bottle and pacifier and climbed into bed next to Sherlock. “Sleepy boy, eh Lock?”

“A-huh.” Sherlock nodded, this time cuddling up to John without being prompted.

“Me too, it’s been a long day, eh?”

“Long, long, long.” Sherlock nodded as he spoke.

“Are you hungry?”

“No fank-yoo.” Sherlock shook his head.

“Do you think you could try a bottle for me?”

“Mm, milk-shake?” Sherlock asked, over emphasising the two syllables. 

“That’s right, clever clogs.”

“Chokit?”

“Of course.” Sherlock thought again and nodded, resting his head back against John’s chest and letting him take over the concern of feeding the younger man. They lay there for a little while, John gently holding the bottle for Sherlock and the younger man drinking. Neither felt the need to say anything. When they were done, John turned off the light and encouraged Sherlock to close his eyes and soon enough they were both asleep.

 

John was sure that he had only been asleep for a moment or two, but when he opened his eyes he could see light creeping in under the curtains. At first, he wasn’t sure what had woken him up but then he felt his body lift off the bed and slam back down again, then again, then again “Ow! Bloody hell, what- “John managed to sit up, the bed still shaking and focus his eyes on the figure of a long-limbed man jumping up and down and up and down on the bed. He quickly ran his mind back to the night before and suddenly understood.

“Sherlock Holmes. Stop jumping on the bed!” he shouted over the sound of Sherlock’s giggling. He stopped jumping and John waited for the last couple of bounces to ripple out of the mattress. Sherlock looked down at John and John glared up. “Down. Right now.” He pointed to the floor on the other side of the bed and forced himself to leave the warmth of the duvet, standing up and marching around to meet Sherlock who was now stood on the floor. John put his hands on his hips and for the first time in his life felt physically taller than Sherlock. “Are you allowed to jump on the bed, Lock?”

“No.” Sherlock pouted, looking down at his feet.

“No. Why not?”

“Dange-russ.”

“Absolutely right, because it’s dangerous and you could get hurt. You’re sitting in time-out while I cook breakfast.”

Sherlock gasped and finally looked away from the floor and into John’s eyes.

“Come on.” John put one hand on the small of Sherlock’s back, the other on his shoulder and guided him out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen. Once they were there, he took his hand from Sherlock’s back and picked up a chair, putting it down in the corner turned to face the wall. “Bum on the chair, Lock.” Sherlock shuffled forwards,

“Meanie.” He pouted.

“Yep, but rules are rules for a reason, sit down.” Sherlock did, sitting with a huff and crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re not leaving that chair until your attitude improves, mister.” John turned around and started to make breakfast.

The entire time John was making breakfast, brewing himself a tea, toasting bread, spreading butter on toast, cutting said toast into crust-less triangles, making Sherlock a sippy-cup of juice, laying the table and cleaning up after the day before…Sherlock was fussing. He was doing his best to make it very clear to John that he didn’t care for being put in a time-out. He huffed and puffed and fidgeted, gave the odd overly dramatic sigh and kicked his feet against the wall. John did his best to ignore the little protester in the corner, not willing to allow Lock to derail breakfast entirely, but once everything was on the table he turned his attention to the little monster.

“I mean it, Lock, you’re not leaving that chair until you’ve calmed down.” Sherlock kicked his heels against the chair and gave his best glare over his shoulder at his big brother. “Right.” John crossed the kitchen and plucked the dummy from Sherlock’s mouth which caused Sherlock to gape at him, “No soothers until you behave.” John put the dummy on the counter out of Sherlock’s reach and turned back to him, Sherlock was now pouting and looked fairly close to tears. 

Well that made John feel like a complete monster, but he was trying to keep up the disciplinarian act. “Deep breaths Lock, face the wall and calm down, then we can have breakfast.”

“Buh- “Sherlock started,

“Ah, ah.” John put a finger over his own lips, “Quiet time, turn around.”

Sherlock had really hoped that the almost crying technique would work on his new care giver, he was very annoyed that it hadn’t. He huffed again and look John up and down, trying to spot a weakness, he couldn’t see one. Damn it.

“Turn around, Sherlock.” John was calm and measured and Sherlock reluctantly turned in his chair and sat still. John patted himself on the back, put the dirty pacifier into the sink and replaced it with a new one, then sat down at the table to drink his tea and watch over his younger brother. He let a couple of minutes pass, Sherlock had sat quietly so he put down his tea. “Lock, are you ready to come to the table?”

Sherlock shuffled in his seat and looked over at John, “A-huh.” He nodded.

“Lovely.” John stood up and walked over to him, he stood by the chair and looked down at Sherlock, “Do you jump on the bed?”

“No.” Sherlock shook his head.

“No.” John nodded in confirmation, “And do you throw a strop in time out?” Sherlock sighed but shook his head with a pout,

“No.”

“Good boy, up you get, go and sit down at the table.” Sherlock nodded and jumped off the chair, John decided to leave it there for now in case another time-out was needed before breakfast was over and joined his little brother.

Sherlock hovered by the table, “Wish chair?” he asked.

“Well, which chair has a Lego plate in front of it?” Sherlock’s eyes lit up and he looked around,

“Dis wun!” he pointed excitedly.

“Bingo.” John grinned back, “Well that must be Sherlock’s chair then.” Sherlock hummed and nodded and climbed onto the seat. John sat down in his own seat across from him.

“I like toasts.” Sherlock nodded.

“Well it’s lucky your big brother made toast then.” Sherlock grinned back,

“A-huh.”

“Now, can you feed yourself or do you want me to do it?”

“Me.” Sherlock patted his chest, picked up a piece of toast and took a bite.

“Well done, big boy. Remember your juice.” Sherlock nodded. “What do you want to do today?”

“Mm.” Sherlock thought, “Play games?” he asked sweetly.

“Sure, we can play some games. What else do you fancy doing?”

“Stories?”

“I can read you some stories, do you think we could try a bath today?”

“Mm…maybe.” Sherlock looked away and mumbled into his toast.

“Alright, maybe later.” John chuckled as he ate his own toast. “Drink your juice, Lock.”

“Oh yeh.” Sherlock picked up the sippy-cup and started drinking.

“Do you think you can be a good boy and play nicely while I clean up?”

“Yeh, obs’ly.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Eh,” John pointed a finger, “Don’t be cheeky.” Sherlock picked at his plate, “Do you need to sit in the corner?”

“No.” Sherlock pouted.

“I’m sorry?” John asked. Sherlock sighed.

“No sir.”

“Better. Now go and play- “Sherlock hopped off the chair and ran out of the kitchen, “Nicely!” John shouted after him as he started to clear the table.

John was washing up when he heard a loud thump from the living room, for a split second he panicked but when he didn’t hear the sound of tears he picked up a towel to dry his hands and leaned through the door,

“Oi!” John took in the sight of Sherlock surrounded by all of the chair and sofa cushions which were lying across the floor, he was just climbing up off of the carpet of pillows having apparently jumped from the sofa. Sherlock stopped, looking very guilty. “Is this playing nicely?” he asked sternly, Sherlock didn’t answer, “Hm?”

“No.”

“No.” John threw the cloth onto the kitchen table and walked into the living room, picking up and putting back pillows as he went. When he reached Sherlock, he held his arm and landed a smack to his bum.

“Ow.” Sherlock pouted and reached back to rub away the sting.

“Bedroom, let’s get you dressed. Then we’re going for a walk.” John nodded his head towards Sherlock’s room and he started to walk, followed by John.

“Walk?”

“Yep, I think you need a bit of fresh air, you’re full of beans this morning.”

“Yay!”

“Yay indeed.” John chuckled as he walked into Sherlock’s room after him. “Right, first things first. I need to tidy this mess up. Bum on the bed.”

“I can helps.”

“Thank you for offering.” John rubbed Sherlock’s back, “That’s a good boy. But let John sort this out. Go on, on the bed.” Sherlock climbed up to sit on the bed and watched as John folded the clothes discarded on the floor and put them back into their respective drawers. 

“Where we goin’ for a walk?”

“How does the park sound?”

“Good!” Sherlock grinned as John looked up from the floor.

“The park it is then.” John put a t-shirt, jumper, pants, socks and jeans aside from Sherlock’s personal ‘younger’ collection and pulled out a pair of Velcro strap trainers from under the bed, he put the pile of clothes on the still made bed next to Sherlock and went to open the curtains and let in some daylight. “Right then monkey, let’s get you dressed, arms up.” Sherlock did as he was told, and John managed to get him out of his pyjamas and into his outdoors clothes. As John was helping him with his shoes he was interrupted by Sherlock’s hands,

“I do straps?” 

“Go on then.” John let Sherlock do the very important job and checked that he hadn’t done the straps too tightly. Once he was happy he stood up and took Sherlock’s hand. “Now,” he started to lead Sherlock out of the room and towards his own bedroom, “Can you be a good boy and sit still while I get dressed?”

“Sittin still’s the harderist.” Sherlock said as he swung back and forth on John’s arm, following behind him.

“Yep, it’s a job for a big boy, do you think you can do it?”

“Yeh, yeh!” Sherlock nodded.

“Good lad.” John ruffled Sherlock’s hair and picked up Nelson from the bed. He pointed to the floor and handed Sherlock his bear. “You sit down here where I can see you, play with Nelson, I’ll just be two minutes.” Sherlock nodded and took Nelson, squeezing him tightly and John went about quickly tidying his own room and putting on some clothes. John brushed his own hair (he wasn’t sure either he or Sherlock were ready for the task of brushing the little guy’s hair) so he looked respectable and turned to find Sherlock where he had left him. “Good job, Lock! Right where I left you.” John grinned down and Sherlock grinned back up.

“Park now?”

“We need to brush our teeth…but then the park.” Sherlock hopped up and was already half way out of the bedroom door on his way to the bathroom, John jogged after him.

“I’m super good at teefs.” Sherlock called.

“Okay but wait for John!” John called after him, catching up with him in the bathroom half of a tube of toothpaste already on Sherlock’s bright red Elmo toothbrush (sink, bath mat, mirror and somehow the light shade?!).

“See!”

“Oh, good job Lock, but I said wait for John.” John raised an eyebrow and joined him at the sink. It was with a little bit of pride that John noticed one of Sherlock’s hands had gone back to protect his bum when he’d seen John’s raised eyebrow. At least the little monster was starting to realise he wasn’t a push over.

“Sorry, ‘sited.”

“I know, Lock gets excited about his special tooth brush. But you need to listen to me, alright?”

“Right.” Sherlock nodded, and John smiled, picking up his own toothbrush and siphoning off some of the excess toothpaste from Sherlock’s brush.

“Okay then clever clogs, you show me how…” Sherlock’s face lit up and John used the opportunity of Sherlock ‘teaching’ him to make sure he was getting all of his teeth. When Sherlock was done, he quickly brushed his own teeth like a pro and when he was finished, he turned to see Sherlock gaping at him,

“Wow, you is the bestest at teefs.” Sherlock nodded. John chuckled,

“Well that’s because I’ve had a lot more practice than you.” John winked at his little brother and rinsed off his sticky hands. “Now munchkin, I’m going to get our coats. Can you try and have a pee?”

“Don’t need wun.” Sherlock shook his head.

“I know, but try, just in case.”

“Don’t need to!” Sherlock stamped a foot and John raised an eyebrow.

“Well, we’re not going to the park until you’ve tried.” John decided to leave the coats and watch the make sure Sherlock did as he was told. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, “Go on.”

With a very dramatic sigh, Sherlock sat down and had a somewhat frankly monumental wee that surprised both of them. When Sherlock stood up and John helped him with his trousers he looked at his brother, “I really really needed a wee, huh?”

“Yes, you did.” John chuckled. “Now, don’t get upset with me, but do you need a pull up on our walk?”

To Sherlock’s credit he didn’t have a fit as John was expecting, instead he thought hard and shook his head. “No fank-yoo I don’ need wun.”

“Are you sure?”

“A-huh.”

“Okay, well if you need the loo, just tell me, you won’t be in any trouble.”

“Kay.” Sherlock nodded.

John lead Sherlock to the front door and helped him into his waterproof coat before putting on his own. He popped into the kitchen to put a couple of emergency pacifiers in his pocket and unplug his phone from charge and went back to the door, where Sherlock was standing good as gold, swinging his arms back and forth. 

“Ready to rumble?”

“A-huh!” Sherlock beamed.

“Now, remember, you’ve got to hold my hand the whole time we’re out of the flat. Do you remember that?”

“Yep.” Sherlock nodded, and he let John take his hand. John squeezed it encouragingly and opened the door, helping him hop down the stairs and then out onto the street.

Years ago, John would have worried what he looked like, holding hands with a juvenile in appearance, six-foot-tall man on a weekday morning. He had learned long ago that one of the many wonderful things about living in London was that people had other worries. No one who saw them would even remember them a few moments later. London anonymity, it had its perks.

“Can I go on swings?” Sherlock asked.

“I should think so.”

“An the slide?”

“Absolutely.”

“An the wibble wobblers?”

“Even the wibble wobblers. But remember, if there are other little boys and girls there, you have to share.” There had been a couple of occasions in the past when there had been children at the play park at the same time as little John and Sherlock. It was rare as their local park was usually only frequented by late night ‘undesirables’, so at nine in the morning on a Tuesday it was usually deserted. When they had run into children and their parents, as the two ‘men’ were clearly not threating, and their ‘situation’ had been somewhat explained to the other parents by Mycroft (my little brothers, a mental age of three), they hadn’t minded at all, simply kept their distance. Sherlock, however, had minded a great deal that there were other children who wanted to play with ‘his’ toys and had thrown a monumental tantrum over the concept of waiting two minutes to use the slide.

“Mm,” Sherlock thought out loud, “No shares fank-yoo.”

“Yes shares, thank you. You’ll play nicely Sherlock, or we’ll go straight home and you’ll get your bum smacked.”

“Ohhh.” Sherlock frowned.

Luckily for…well everyone, when they walked through the metal gate and into the play park it was completely empty. John breathed a huge internal sigh of relief and Sherlock tugged on his hand, which he hadn’t yet released.

“Ah, ah, Lock wait.” Sherlock stopped pulling and stood looking very fidgety. “You do not leave my sight and you come straight back when I call you.”

“Yeh, yeh.” Sherlock was gazing over at the shiny swings and paying next to no attention to his big brother.

“Oi.” John tugged on his arm and pulled his attention back to him. “You listen to me, Sherlock. I will be sat on that bench, right there.” John pointed to the bench in question. “I will be watching you the whole time and you are not to leave my sight. If you’re naughty, Sherlock, we will go straight home. I mean it.”

“Kay.” Sherlock nodded.

“Right then, go have fun.” John swatted Sherlock in the direction of the swings and he took off to the play. John settled down on the bench and sat back to watch Sherlock as he raced from the swings to the slide to the swings to the roundabout and back and forth for the best part of an hour.

Eventually, Sherlock started to slow down and John decided he had just about enough energy left for the short walk home. He stood up and wandered over to Sherlock who was sat at the top of the slide.

“Alright champ, time to go home.” He had predicted his response but had hoped that he had noticed just how tired he was feeling. He hadn’t,

“No!”

“Yes, little man, home time, come on.” He held out an arm, encouraging Sherlock to slide down one last time and into his brother’s grip.

“No, no, no!” Sherlock shook his head and gripped onto the top of the slide.

“I’ll ask one last time, Lock, then you’ll be in trouble. Come on, you’ve been playing for a long time, let’s go home.” John wiggled his fingers. He could see a tantrum brewing behind Sherlock’s eyes and decided to head it off, “Sherlock, if you don’t come down right now, I’ll carry you home and spank your bare bum. Now.” Sherlock sighed but relented and slid down into John’s reach. John was particularly relieved as he had no idea whether he would be able to carry the taller man back to the flat. “Well done.” John took Sherlock’s hand, helped him up and started to walk back towards the flat.

Once they were out of the park, John looked over at Sherlock who was pouting and looked close to tears. He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a pacifier. “Would this make you feel better?” Sherlock saw the dummy and nodded, automatically opening his mouth in anticipation. “Okay, good boy.” John put the pacifier in his mouth and Sherlock looked a little bit happier, or at least distracted as they wandered home.

“I think you’re about ready for a nap, hm?” Sherlock nodded, and John squeezed his hand, “How does a nice warm, bubbly bath sound?” Sherlock shook his head. “Now, I know you don’t like water in your ears or eyes,” John started, and Sherlock’s head snapped to look at him, completely stunned that John knew that about him, “But if I’m very careful and I let you hold a dry towel the whole time, could we try?”

Sherlock thought, before mumbling “Sleeps,” from behind his dummy.

“I know you’re sleepy, love, you can even close your eyes in the bath if you’d like.”

“Mmhm.” Sherlock nodded, “John sortid.” John chuckled and squeezed Sherlock’s hand again,

“Yeah, I’ll sort it.”

John opened the door to the building and ushered Sherlock in, “Can you climb the stairs, big boy?”

“A-huh.” Sherlock nodded,

“Hold onto the banister and I’ll hold your hand.” Sherlock did as he was told, and John helped the sleepy boy up the stairs and into the flat. “Let’s get your coat and shoes off.” John hung up the coat and left Sherlock’s shoes by the door before leading him to his bedroom to find some pyjamas and a pull up, finally taking him into the bathroom.

“You sit down here for me, love.” John helped Sherlock sit on the bath mat as he ran the bath, adding lavender bubbles and deciding to forego any toys in case they woke Sherlock back up. He undressed Sherlock and helped him into the tub and started to wash him. Sherlock dozed against the slope of the bath and John smiled to himself as he hummed a song and Sherlock let out the occasional sigh. Rather than announce that he was about to wash Sherlock’s hair, he quietly positioned himself behind him and gently poured small amounts of water over his curls, careful to keep his head tilted back. Sherlock didn’t even seem to notice, whether John was doing it perfectly or Sherlock was just too tired from running around to care, John didn’t know and didn’t particularly care. He gently rubbed shampoo into Sherlock’s scalp and washed it out and then managed to rouse Sherlock enough to help him out of the bath. He had him lie down on the bath mat as he dried and dressed him, in the bath Sherlock had kept him eyes safely shut but once on the mat he lay with his eyes open watching John dress him with a sleepy smile.

John picked up Sherlock’s hair brush and took Sherlock’s hand, taking him into the living room. He placed a cushion on the floor in front of his usual chair and told Sherlock to sit down, which he did, his legs crossed, his back leaning against the chair.

“Okay champ, you stay right there for a moment, I’ll be right back.” 

“Where you goin’?” he mumbled from behind the plastic.

“I’m just getting you a bottle,” John stroked Sherlock’s wet hair, and turned on the T.V, switching the channels until he found some colourful cartoons. Sherlock’s eyes instantly moved from John to the screen and John went into the kitchen to make a milkshake for him. He returned back with a warm bottle and sat down in his chair, a leg on either side of Sherlock. “Here you go love.” John handed him the bottle, plucking the pacifier from his mouth with his finger, and Sherlock instantly took the bottle with two hands, he never took his eyes from the screen. John used the opportunity of a quiet, distracted Sherlock to gently brush his hair.

Every now and then Sherlock would let out a little whine when John caught a snag in his curly locks, but otherwise was blissfully distracted by his warm chocolate and cartoons. John wasn’t sure when but at some point, Sherlock switched from holding his bottle in two hands to one, the other arm was snaked around John’s leg holding on to him.

“There we go, handsome boy, all done.” Sherlock nodded without looking away from the screen. John peered over Sherlock to see him clutching a now empty bottle, “Oh, good boy Lock.” John patted Sherlock’s chest and took the bottle, putting it on the coffee table. “Time for a nice nap, eh?”

“Stay wif John?” Sherlock asked from behind the thumb that was now in his mouth.

“Ah, ah, no thumbs buddy.” John stood, careful not to kick Sherlock as he climbed over him and leaned into the kitchen, taking a clean pacifier from the drawer and returning to crouch by Sherlock and gently swapping his thumb for it. “There, that’s better. Now what was that?”

“Stay?”

“I’ve got some work to do Lock, but I’ll be here, just down the hall if you need me.”

“No, no.” Sherlock shook his head and pouted.

“Oh, don’t get grumpy with me you’re just tired.” Sherlock’s eyes were suddenly watery, and John made a quick comprise. “How about you have a nap on the sofa?”

“Yeh?”

“Yeah, if you’d like.” John smiled warmly, and Sherlock nodded. “Okay you hop up and I’ll go and fetch Nelson and a blanket.” Sherlock nodded and stumbled over to the sofa.

When John returned a few seconds later Sherlock was already curled up on his side. John gently covered him with the blanket and tucked Nelson under his arm. “Okay sleepy boy, you close your eyes now.” Sherlock nodded as he did. John stayed on the floor beside him for a few moments, stroking his arm and waiting for him to doze off. When he had, John stood, stretched, and started the clean up the mess that the morning had provided.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lovely comment made me realise I may have ended this one a bit abruptly. I thought I'd go back to it and add a couple of chapters. Hope you enjoy!

About an hour had passed since Sherlock had dozed off on the sofa. John was particularly pleased with himself, having taken the opportunity to tidy the entire flat, he’d even thought ahead enough to move some of Sherlock’s little clothes and provisions into his bedroom as it seemed Sherlock was in no rush to leave his side any time soon. The only trouble was that John desperately, really really desperately wanted a cup of tea. However, every time he glanced over at Sherlock’s blissfully peaceful face he was deterred from boiling the kettle in case it woke him. He was starting to understand why Greg and Mycroft always insisted that they nap in their bedroom. He’d switched the television off a few moments after Sherlock had finally nodded off and now he couldn’t catch up on Match of the Day as he was unsure if the sudden sound of the television would wake the boy as well. Instead, he sat at his desk and quietly opened his laptop, reluctantly using the opportunity of peace and quiet to finish his most recent blog. 

“Da?” 

John startled and turned in his seat to see Sherlock shifting under his covers,

“Pa?!” 

Sherlock’s head popped up, his face the image of confusion and sadness. 

“Hello mate,” John smiled, standing up from his chair and moving over to check on his little brother,

“John, where Pa?” Sherlock asked checking over his shoulder and scanning the room, tearing up when he didn’t see either Mycroft or Greg.

“Ay, ay, it’s alright, I’m here.” John took a seat on the edge of the sofa next to Sherlock’s legs and leaned over to wipe a stray tear from his cheek.

“John?” Sherlock’s voice wobbled as he took a deep shuddering breath,

“I’m here Lock, it’s okay, you were fast asleep, eh?” 

“Fast…sleep…” Sherlock nodded, rubbing his cheek with the corner of his duvet.

“It’s always a bit confusing when you wake up from a deep sleep.” John nodded kindly, rubbing Sherlock’s leg over the covers.

“No Pa…no Da?” Sherlock asked with a deep breath, his voice quivering. 

“No, love, just big brother.” 

“Want Pa!” Sherlock cried and John’s heart broke,

“I’m sorry Lock, here, come here and give me a hug.” John beckoned Sherlock with his hands but Sherlock didn’t move from his spot, clearly still too tired and confused to move. John stood and walked to where Sherlock was leaning back against the arm of the sofa, “Here, love, budge up. Let John sit down.”

Sherlock nodded and did as he was told, shifting a couple of feet up the sofa. John sank down into the space Sherlock had made and reached for Sherlock, pulling him into his side.

“There, that’s better.”

“Better.” Sherlock nodded, curling up against John so he could rub his cheek on John’s shoulder.

“Did you have nice dreams? What did you dream about, eh?”

“Not nice.” Sherlock pouted,

“Oh, Lock, I’m sorry,” John murmured, gently pushing Sherlock’s curls back from his face. “It’s alright, I’m here now.”

“John.” Sherlock nodded. “John big?”

“Yeah,” John chuckled, “John’s big. Hmm, John’s someone’s big brother. Whose big brother do you think he is?”

“Mine!” Sherlock smiled for the first time since waking, although it was a small, slightly watery smile.

John feigned a small gasp in surprise, “D’you know I think you’re right. What do you want to do with the rest of our day, little man?”

Sherlock shrugged, still looking fairly sad.

“We could watch a film? I think we’ve still got some microwave popcorn hidden somewhere in the kitchen.”

“Sweet? Sweet corn?” Sherlock asked as he rubbed a tired eye with his fist.

“I think so, yeah. What film do you fancy?”

“Errr. Too many.” Sherlock sighed and John chuckled,

“Yeah, there’s a lot of them.”

“ ‘obbits?”

“Ohh, I think that might be just a bit too grown up for you champ.” John and Sherlock were both pretty fond of the Hobbit Trilogy but he wasn’t sure it was the best film to watch with a toddler prone to nightmares.

“No scary.” Sherlock shook his head.

“It’s a little bit scary, how about Harry Potter?”

“Free?” Sherlock asked with an exited smile, holding up three fingers. John winced,

“I’m not sure mate, the third one is a little-“

“Noooo, John said!” 

John internally gave himself the clip round the ear that Greg would have administered in that moment had he been there. Dementors. He should never have suggested bloody Harry-

“John, John, p’ease, p’ease. P’ease!”

“Okay, okay, we can watch it but if either of us get scared, we’ll find something else to watch. Deal?”

“Deal.” Sherlock nodded. “Can…can…”

Sherlock fiddled with the duvet in his hand.

“What’s up?” John asked kindly, planting a kiss on Sherlock’s forehead.

“Call Da? An’ call Pa?”

“Yeah, I think we can do that.” John nodded. He’d hoped to avoid disturbing Mycroft and Greg’s much needed holiday at all costs, he was fairly certain that the second they heard Lock’s voice, they would be on the first plain home. But he was doing a good enough job, wasn’t he? Sherlock seemed happy and healthy enough. Mycroft and Greg trusted him. He could let Sherlock speak to them whilst retaining some hope that they’d feel sure enough that the boy was safe and well to see out the rest of their time away. Frankly, in that moment he was willing to try just about anything to make Sherlock smile. He seemed so sad, and so small. “I’ll just go get my phone,” John moved to stand up but stopped when he felt a hand clinging onto his sleeve,

“No go!” 

“Ay, ay, it’s alright champ, I’m just going to the kitchen, I’ll be right back.” John tried to soothe a worried Sherlock, but it didn’t work. Instead, Sherlock shook his head and blinked back a few tears with a gulp.

“No.”

“I’ve got to get my phone if you want to call Da and Pa, Lock.”

“Call.” Sherlock nodded urgently, “But no going.” He shook his head just as urgently. 

“Okay,” John sighed, trying to think on his feet. “Can you come with me?”

“Up?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can, love. I’m not as tall as Da or Pa…or you.” John tapped his little finger against Sherlock’s nose, hoping to encourage a giggle. It didn’t work. “You can hold my hand though, hold my hand the whole way.”

“Hold h-hands.” Sherlock nodded as he whipped his nose on the back of his hand.

“Okay, you hold my hand big boy.”

“No big.” Sherlock shook his head seriously, “No big, John.” 

John tried to stop himself from panicking, he hadn’t heard Sherlock that young in a long time. He usually tried to retain full control of his speech, sure he could turn up the cute when he needed to but he was showing signs of being a smaller Lock than John really felt qualified to handle. He didn’t have any choice in the moment though, so he puffed himself up and smiled kindly as Sherlock.

“I know,” He soothed, “I know, little man. You hold my hand alright?”

“Yeh.” Sherlock nodded and allowed John to interlink his fingers with his own. 

“Come on let’s go and find my phone.” John stood waiting for Sherlock to climb out of his cocoon of blankets and once he was free he shuffled after John into the kitchen. “Right, I think…” John started thinking aloud as he looked around the kitchen, “I think you’ll need your high chair, little love.”

High chair was a vast exaggeration, the chair was no higher than the others. In fact, it was exactly the same as the others, only it had grooves cut into either side to allow a tray to be clicked into place. It was the result of some of Greg’s weekend DIY and worked a treat at keeping a wriggly toddler in place. 

“No!” Sherlock argued, stamping a foot to emphasise how bad an idea he thought that was, startling John who just a second earlier had been comforting a meek and sad Lock. John had no practice dealing with someone of Sherlock’s current age as an adult and didn’t realise that sadness, frustration, anger and euphoria were basically separated by tissue paper. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s just the high chair, you like the high chair.” John tried to negotiate only to be faced with a full-blown Sherlockian pout. “Once you’re settled in your chair we can call Pa.”

“No chair, see?” Sherlock held his free hand up, putting his palm over his ear to show that he could talk on the phone without being in the chair.

“Yep, I see, but you need to sit your bum in the chair, Lock.”

“No boss.” Sherlock frowned.

“Yep, boss.” John nodded as he pulled Sherlock after him towards the cupboard where they stored the tray, only to remember a split second too late that it was also the cupboard where John’s stash of sweets was kept.

“Sweeties!” 

“Maybe later, if you’re good.” John mumbled as he hefted the tray out of the cupboard, “And you can start by parking your bum on the chair.” John nodded his head in the direction of the chair in question and to his surprise, Sherlock sat down. “Ay, good job, now I’ve got to let go of your hand to put the tray in, but I’ll hold your hand as soon as I’m done, okay?”

Sherlock thought for a moment before nodding, “Kay.”

“Good lad,” John released Sherlock’s hand and slid the tray into place with a click. As soon as he was done a hand was thrust into his face and John was just about to grab Sherlock’s hand and squeeze it when instead Sherlock made grabbing motions with it,

“Sweetie?” 

John let out a lung full of air, surprised to find he had been holding his breath before laughing, instantly calmed by Sherlock’s new, happier demeanor.

“Not yet cheeky,” John ruffled Sherlock’s hair, “Later, if you’re a good boy.”

“Good boy.” Sherlock nodded in understanding.

John leaned forwards, noticing Sherlock’s dry lips he ran the pad of his thumb across his lower lip with a frown. “You need some juice,”

“Joosh!” Sherlock agreed with a swing of his legs.

John sighed in relief, maybe, just maybe there was a chance he could get through the day without a phone call to his father figures. 

“Let’s see what we’ve got, eh?” John wandered over to the fridge, expecting with every step for Sherlock to throw a fit at having been left ‘alone’, however when that didn’t happen he flung open the fridge acting the showman for his little brother. “Ohh, orange. Orange juice is the best.” 

“Best!” Sherlock nodded, and John searched their cupboards for a bottle. You would think living with someone with Sherlock’s scientific capabilities would mean there was some sort of order to the space that usually acted as his laboratory. That was most definitely not the case. He did, however, strike gold when he found a clean bottle in one of the spice rack slots. John was midway through watering down the orange juice in the bottle when Sherlock piped up,

“Cup?”

“Yep, I’m just getting your cup.” John mumbled in response absent-mindedly as he focused on the job at hand, before screwing on the top and shaking the bottle. He looked up and grinned at Sherlock as he returned with the bottle only to find Sherlock frowning severely once again.

“Cup.”

“Right here, champ.” John held up the bottle, still shaking it as he moved.

“Noooo, cup!” 

John sighed realising what Sherlock had meant. While John’s decision to pick a bottle over a cup had been unintentional, he knew he had made the right decision given the way Sherlock was flitting from happy to furious, a bottle was less likely to soak him should he decide to integrate his drink into his strop. John was also unconvinced that Sherlock would have the dexterity for handles at the moment and the only plastic cups he could find in the kitchen had handles, so a bottle it was.

“Want cup.” Sherlock pouted, suddenly sad and John rushed the last two steps to him in order to wipe a few tears from his cheeks.

“Ay, it’s okay Lock. It’s okay,” John put down the bottle on the tray and pulled Sherlock’s head to his chest as he sniffled and huffed. “It’s just a bottle, everything’s okay.”

“Want cup.”

“I know, I know. But I think you might be just a little too young for a cup at the moment.”

“No, no baby.” Sherlock stuttered as he tried to recover from his tears.

“No of course not, but you’re still my little brother right?”

“A-huh.”

“A bottle for my little brother, hm? Doesn’t mean you’re a baby love.”

“N-no?”

“No, of course not.” John stroked through Sherlock’s hair with one hand as he picked up the bottle with his free one, “Here, take a sip for me,” he held to the bottle to Sherlock’s lips and felt the younger man relax the second he started drinking. Sherlock started taking steady sips as he leaned against John’s chest. “Yeah, that’s better, eh? Thirsty lad.”

John thought for a moment before mumbling, “I think we need to get you in a nappy, little man.”

This thought terrified John. He and Sherlock very rarely slipped young enough to require nappies. He had certainly never put one on someone before. He had seen parents put on and remove nappies countless times at the Surgery and he’d been put in one enough times by Greg and Mycroft to be fairly certain of how it worked. However, whenever he was young enough to need one, he was so unaware of what was going on that he couldn’t remember what he found good and what he found overwhelming about it. He had been basing all of his caregiving tactics on his experience as a little and on this subject, he felt his knowledge lacking. Usually, if either of them required extra protection against accidents they used pull-ups. They were simple enough, you couldn’t get a pull-up wrong and little John had tried in a myriad of ways. He’d once got a pull up stuck wrapped around his neck and under his armpit. Mycroft had cut him out with safety scissors and put him in a time out when he’d discovered it was an elaborate attempt to sneakily break the rules by putting on a pull up when he was told to, but by not wearing it on his bum. Nappies, however, were a whole other situation. Could he cut off Sherlock’s circulation if he put it on too tightly? Was there such a thing as too much powder?

“No.” Sherlock protested but there was little fight in the statement.

“Yep, we’ll finish your bottle then you need a nappy.”

“Big boy.”

“Yep, you are.” John answered evenly, “But you’re not quite big enough to remember to go to the loo.”

Sherlock didn’t answer, instead put all of his energy into finishing his bottle. 

“There’s a good lad.” John rubbed calming circles on Sherlock’s back and planted the odd kiss on the top of his head. When he heard the sound of Sherlock sucking on air he went to remove the bottle from his mouth only to be prevented by two resisting hands on the plastic and a grunt from Lock. “Ay, it’s all gone, silly boy.” John chuckled but Sherlock grunted again, removing his lips from the bottle for just long enough to mumble,

“Mine.”

Before latching on again. John lifted his chin to ensure Sherlock couldn’t see his face before rolling his eyes, the boy was back and forth like a yoyo… no that’s not quite right, back and forth like a seesaw, no that wasn’t right either. John was flustered.

“How about a dummy instead?” John offered and watched as Sherlock mulled it over silently before dropping the bottle with a clatter onto the tray and nodding. 

“Mine, mine?” Sherlock asked patting his lips.

“You’re stuck on repeat, eh?” John smiled down at Sherlock before moving away to search the drawers in hope of finding a dummy.

“Mine, mine?” 

“Yep I hear you, buddy.” John rummaged through drawer after drawer before finding a dummy at the back of one, wedged behind a rolling pin. He cleaned it just to make sure, he didn’t know what Sherlock had most recently used the rolling pin for. He’d once seen it used to beat the crap out of a dead duck. Something about feathers and blood splatter. Sherlock had promised him that he had bought the duck already dead. He wasn’t sure from where though…

“Here you go,” John murmured as he returned to Sherlock and slipped it into his waiting mouth. “Is that better?”

“Mmhm.” Sherlock nodded as he reached out the touch the pacifier with his fingers.

“Right little man, let’s get you in a nappy.” John grumbled as he searched for the tray release latch. He had to be careful to not reveal to Sherlock where the latch was, or he wouldn’t be able to safely restrain the boy again. While big John knew where the latch was, little John never remembered. Sherlock, however, was a completely different…human. Mycroft had made John promise on pain of pain that he would never reveal the location of the latch to little Sherlock or big Sherlock for that matter. Big Sherlock didn’t know where it was because ‘it wasn’t important’ and he didn’t want to waste important brain space with that bit of information, but little Sherlock would bargain away his last biscuit for that little nugget of knowledge. John had no intention of revealing the secret within his first hours of babysitting. He just about managed to contain his cheer when the tray slid out of the chair, he tucked it aside in the kitchen where it wouldn’t be tripped over.

“Hold my hand, Lock.”

“Mmhm.” Sherlock nodded and took John’s offered hand before wriggling out of his seat and padding towards his bedroom after him. 

“Okay champ, what jammies do you fancy?” John asked as he opened the drawer and rummaged through Sherlock’s selection of pyjamas. Sherlock pointed a long finger at the set of tight fitting but lightweight dark blue cotton pyjamas with red cuffs at the ankles and wrists and little white lightning bolts and rain clouds drawn in a random pattern over the chest and legs.

“Good choice, okay sit down on your bed for me.” Sherlock nodded once again and shuffled over to sit on the edge of his bed while John rummaged under the bed in search of the box of nappy supplies that Mycroft had stored there for emergencies. Once he found the box he turned his attention to undressing Sherlock. It was harder than he’d appreciated before to undress a wriggly, fidgety, tired, happy, furious toddler. Sherlock hated anything being pulled over his head, so John decided to remove his shirt and replace it with the clean pyjama top first. Get the worst thing out of the way and all that. Sherlock whined and fussed and kicked John in the shin but eventually, the worst was over, and Sherlock was lying on his back, dressed in his fresh pyjama top, sucking on his pacifier and gently rubbing his ears, thankful that they hadn’t been guillotined off by the cotton t-shirt. 

“I know, I know, I’m a horrible mean big brother.” John soothed as he rubbed Sherlock’s stomach. Sherlock frowned seriously and nodded in agreement and John moved on to remove his trousers and pants. He was just about to get to the job at hand of getting Sherlock into a nappy without injuring him (his brain was busily supplying worst case scenarios) when he noticed Sherlock had forgotten about his ears but was lying back, quietly crying.

“Oh, Lock what’s wrong?!” John knelt on the edge of the bed, so he could get close to Sherlock and he stroked his hair, “It’s okay, big brother’s not being too mean, is he?”

Sherlock didn’t know how to respond to that. John wasn’t being mean at all, but he was more overwhelmed by the prospect of John putting him in a nappy than he had realised, and he didn’t know how to deal with those emotions, but he did know that when John was stood by his legs he was a very long way away and Lock felt lonely.

“What can I do to make it better, eh?” John asked quietly as he lightly rubbed tears from Sherlock’s cheeks for what felt that the hundredth time that day. God, was he terrible at this? 

Sherlock didn’t know what would make it better so he sort of shrugged as his breath hitched and he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. 

John scanned the room in search of a miracle and by some…well, miracle, his eyes fell on Sherlock’s bear Nelson sat propped up on the bedside table. John spent very little time in Sherlock’s room as an adult and had always assumed that when he was big he would have thrown Nelson under the bed or hidden him under a loose floorboard. To see him sat upright leaning against the headboard of the bed came as somewhat of a surprise. It was that same surprise that he felt whenever he heard Sherlock thank someone for holding open a door or when he would offer to make John a cup of tea at the end of a long day. He wished it wasn’t the case, but it still surprised him whenever big Sherlock showed signs of being err…human I suppose is the word.

“Nelson, there’s Nelson! Would Nelson help?” John asked after he’d recovered from his relief and surprise. 

Sherlock nodded, and John put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder so as not to startle him by disappearing and stretched across the bed before reaching Nelson with his fingertips and bringing him back to his little brother. 

“Here, look who it is.” John smiled as he handed Lock’s bear to him. Sherlock instantly settled, smiled and cuddled Nelson. “Right, nappy time mister, why don’t you tell Nelson all about your day?”

John moved back to stand at the end of the bed, realising that Sherlock had been lying half naked for a little while, he decided there was no time to be overly nervous about this nappy business and got to work. He cleaned Sherlock off with wipes, used nappy cream where he thought appropriate, used a liberal amount of powder having decided more was better than less in that area and finally taped the nappy closed tightly (but not too tightly, he hoped). He let out a sigh of relief and looked over at Sherlock’s face, “How’s that little man? Almost done.” John tugged the pyjama bottoms over Sherlock’s feet and pulled them up, tapping Sherlock’s hip and receiving the appropriate response when he needed him to lift his bum up. Lastly, he pulled a pair of socks onto kicking feet before putting away the box under the bed and closing the drawers he’d left open. He turned back to Sherlock and placed a warm hand on his stomach, “All snug as a bug?” he asked, and Sherlock peered out from behind Nelson with a smile. “That’s a good lad.” John winked and reached for Sherlock’s hands before pulling him upright. 

“Shall we get you comfy on the sofa?”

Sherlock nodded as he stood and pushed passed John, toddling off in the direction of the sofa, Nelson in hand. 

“Eh, go easy Lock.” John called after him as he scanned Sherlock’s room to check it was tidy before following Sherlock and closing the door after him. “Where’av you gone, trouble?” John called as he followed Sherlock into the living room and found him sat on the carpet in front of the television, growing steadily more and more frustrated when prodding at the screen with his fingers didn’t magically make the television do what he wanted. 

“No, no. That’s too close and Sherlock doesn’t work the T.V, John does.” John put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and was faced with a furious Lock. “No stropping little man, sofa, come on.” Sherlock pouted but relented and allowed himself to be guided back to the sofa. John fussed around for a moment, returning the room to some semblance of order. In the process he folded Sherlock’s blanket in half and handed it to him. This calmed Sherlock for a moment as he held it to his cheek with one hand while his other hand held Nelson to his chest. He watched John as he moved around putting everything back in its place but after twenty seconds or several Sherlock hours he grew frustrated again and let his pacifier drop from his mouth as he used his hands to push himself up and down on the sofa cushions while he grumbled and growled.

John heard the commotion and turned to face Sherlock, an eyebrow raised. 

“You,” John pointed a finger in Sherlock’s direction, “Need to calm down, little man.”

This wasn’t the response Sherlock had been hoping for. He’d hoped by causing a fuss that John would stop tidying, immediately turn on the television and hand him a bowl of sweets. As things hadn’t gone exactly as planned he threw his blanket to the floor and huffed, “No!” Before crossing his arms over his chest to prove how serious he was. 

This was the moment John had been dreading most of all. The moment when he would have to officially hand out a punishment. He wasn’t concerned about being a figure of authority or handing out orders, that came naturally to him. What concerned him was that little Sherlock may mistakenly believe that because he was bigger than John (or rather, taller than John) that he would be able to overpower him. John knew that there was no scenario in which Sherlock could overpower him, and adult Sherlock knew this too although he’d never publicly admit it. Little Sherlock, however, was an unknown entity to John in that area. The last thing he wanted during his first babysitting stint was to end up wrestling with the man child in the middle of the living room. If Greg or Mycroft were to walk in on that he wouldn’t sit comfortably for a month. 

“Lock, we don’t throw tantrums. Sit your bum in the corner, two minutes.” John pointed to the corner in question before returning his attention to Sherlock to hold up two fingers. “Two minutes, Lock, go on.”

Sherlock replaced his absent pacifier with his thumb and did move, however, he didn’t move to the corner but rather pushed himself to sit on the arm of the sofa as he glowered at John and wrapped his free arm across his chest.

John straightened up and stretched cracking his back with a sigh, he then turned his attention fully to Sherlock. He stepped over to the stropping toddler and took a hold of his upper arm, pulling gently but firmly to get him down from his precarious position. Sherlock relented when he realised he would fall over if he didn’t put his feet on the floor and once he was standing up, John removed Sherlock’s thumb from his mouth, 

“No thumb. Corner.” 

“Noooo.” Sherlock whined only to be cut off by a smack to his backside,

“March, go on.” 

Deciding not to do as John had told him, Sherlock dropped to the floor, kicked his heels against said floor and wailed “Mean John!”.

“Corner, right now, or you’ll earn a smacked bum as well.”

Sherlock looked up at John, stunned at the announcement. He squinted up at him, trying to the best of his two-year-old ability to work out whether he would follow through on that promise or not. However, he couldn’t be sure and didn’t want to risk it, so he crawled in the direction of the corner and sat down with a huff. 

“Good boy,” John praised with a pat to Sherlock’s back. A lot of the tension dropped from Sherlock’s body at John’s murmured praise and he leaned into the touch of John’s hand on his back.

“Two?” Sherlock asked quietly as he peered up at John,

“That’s right clever clogs, two minutes quiet time then we can have a cuddle.” John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair before moving away to make the most of his free two minutes.

John finished up the last of the tidying and prepared a bottle of milk for Sherlock. He refolded the blanket and left it on the sofa for Sherlock to cuddle up to later and recovered the abandoned pacifier and gave it a clean. He put Nelson back on the sofa facing the television, he had been discarded midway through Sherlock’s tantrum and as he checked his watch he saw that two minutes were up and returned to Sherlock and crouched down next to him.

“All done big boy, are you ready to come out and be calm?”

“Mmhm,” Sherlock nodded. “Hard.” He faced John with a sad frown.

“Oh, I know, time outs are hard.” John nodded with an affectionate smile, “But you did so well,” he took Sherlock’s chin gently in his hand, “Such a good boy, are you ready for a cuddle?”

“Yeh.” Sherlock nodded he was definitely ready for a cuddle. “Joosh?” 

“I’ve got a bottle of milk all ready, up you hop.” John stood holding out a hand which Sherlock took before the older man relocated them to the sofa. “You get all cozy, eh?” John patted the sofa and Sherlock curled up with his blanket, he patted the sofa next to him, “John?”

John chuckled and toed off his shoes before picking up the bottle and pacifier from the coffee table and taking the spot next to Sherlock. He instantly found himself with a lap full of wriggling toddler, it only took Sherlock a moment to get comfortable before he settled with his back against the arm of the sofa and his head on John’s shoulder.

“There we go, are you comfy?” John smiled at Sherlock.

“Mmhm.” Sherlock nodded.

“Do you want your bottle?”

“Yeh.”

John handed the bottle to Sherlock who happily took it in two hands and started drinking, he was a few sips in when he frowned, looked at John, went cross-eyed looking at the bottle in his mouth and then looked back at John. There was a serious conversation going on inside Sherlock’s head, John could almost hear the cogs whirring, but he couldn’t work out what it was that wasn’t quite right. Sherlock removed the bottle from his mouth with a pop and looked up at John,

“John, han’.”

“John, han?” John thought aloud, "Jon Hamm?"

Sherlock looked confused.

But John smiled when he worked it out, “John hand?”

Sherlock nodded, and John held up his right hand and gave Sherlock a little wave, “Here’s John’s hand, ello Lock.”

Sherlock giggled and wriggled, happy at the wave for a moment before remembering what it was that he wanted. “No,” He shook his head, “John hand.”

Sherlock thought hard for a moment, his brain working at maximum capacity for a two-year-old. What he really wanted was for John to hold the bottle. But he also wanted to hold the bottle because, you know, he was a big boy. The biggest. Were he older at that moment he would have removed one hand from the bottle for long enough to take John’s hand with his newly freed hand and take John’s hand to the bottle while he continued to hold it with his other hand. However, he wasn’t older and thought if he took one hand from the bottle that it would explode or run away or something. It wasn’t physically possible to hold a bottle with one hand, was it? So, he delicately placed the bottle on his chest and removed both hands before reaching for John’s waving hand, he pulled it the bottom of the bottle, then replaced both of his hands on the bottle and put it back in his mouth.

“Ohhh, I see, you want John’s hand to hold the bottle as well?”

Sherlock nodded as he continued to drink his milk.

“Silly John, not working that out, eh?”

Sherlock smiled, still drinking.

“Good god, man. You are the cutest thing.”

John noticed the blush of pink set in around Lock’s cheekbones as he shook his head.

“Oh yes you are, cutest little bugger there is.” John used his left hand, the crook of his left arm was supporting Sherlock as he drank, to lightly pinch Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock wriggled slightly in John’s arms again, as if he was trying to wriggle himself somehow closer to him even though he was already as physically close as possible. He drank the last sip of milk from the bottle and dropped it from both his lips and hands simultaneously, knowing that John would take care of it. He gripped John’s shirt and rubbed his cheek on John’s collarbone. “John mine.”

“That’s right, I’m your John.” John and Sherlock sighed in unison, “And you’re my Lock, isn’t that right?”

“Yeh.” Sherlock nodded against John’s chest.


End file.
